In the Breakdown
by Dread Pirate Rinja
Summary: The collateral damage left over from Aizen's war comes back to haunt an older Hitsugaya, and Matsumoto finds herself worrying for her captain's sake. Future!fic; gen with past HitsuHina and GinRan.


_Disclaimer: Bleach and all affiliated characters/settings belong to Kubo Tite. Used and abused without permission for non-profit entertainment purposes._

_**Warnings:**__ violence, mild language, Hitsu-whumping. Potential spoilers, though most of this is pure speculation future!timeline type material. _

_This is a very belated birthday present for Kellen, whose birthday was about a month ago. As always, she rocks my socks, and I love her dearly. X3 _

* * *

**In the Breakdown**

It's a nice day; the sun shines pleasantly warm through scattered puffs of cloud, and an occasional, light breeze keeps the air circulating pleasantly through the small valley on the northern end of Seireitei. The Gotei Thirteen's youngest captain breathes deeply as he leads his small platoon towards the only decent-sized chunk of land that has been gated off in the valley. The estate belongs to one of the higher-ranking members of the Royal Court; Hitsugaya doesn't remember his name; it's an unimportant detail of the task he's been hired to do.

It's been a long while since any division has been asked to help defend the Court. Perhaps it was a result of how strong a defense the shinigami of Seireitei managed to hold against Aizen's forces in a war that lasted a century and ended only a decade ago. Even with Aizen dead, there still is the threat of shinigami who defected under the impression that the Court wasn't doing all they could to protect those they ruled. Reports of this nature are the very reason why Hitsugaya has a job to do.

Once Hitsugaya reaches the estate, he first takes note of the size and entrances, looking for any angle from which an attack could succeed, ignoring the grandiose architecture that he absently dismisses as a tactless display of wealth. Hollow greetings exchanged with the contractor, Hitsugaya takes his men around the premises. There are three entrances carved out of the elaborate stone wall surrounding the estate, and at least two other places where unwanted visitors could easily ascend the wall. He opts to leave two of his best concealed at each of those points, and five at each entrance to the gates – while their primary objective is to keep the Court members safe from attack, Hitsugaya knows that detaining their unseen enemies is a secondary, unspoken objective. It also goes unsaid that any captives are to be left to the Court to deal with.

With his shinigami settled, Hitsugaya gives his lieutenant Matsumoto quiet instructions to patrol the perimeter of the estate around one direction, while he takes the other. He doesn't have to use many words; Matsumoto reads his mind like an open book, and he rarely has to speak to give her instructions. The words are simply a formality, this time – something to let the others know over the headsets he's given them that they have backup on the lookout. This particular job isn't unlike some of the other tasks they were assigned during the war, so each slip into their roles with familiar ease.

It's then that Hitsugaya realizes that it's extremely quiet, and it sends his nerves on tingling ends. The dragon stirs, stretching its claws as it senses prey on the edges of awareness. Rolling his shoulders back, Hitsugaya takes another icy look around the brush that surrounds this portion of the wall. Other than Hyourinmaru's trained instinct, there is no sign of anyone except the two shinigami he has hiding around the corner of the wall.

Taking a deep breath, Hitsugaya counts his troops again, tracing each of their reiatsu signatures with his second set of eyes, just to be sure that he isn't mistaken. With no margin for error – the client specifically asked for _his_ division – he can't allow anything to get past the wall without notice, neither bird nor beast.

The earpiece Hitsugaya wears crackles slightly as one of his men draws in a sharp breath.

"Mori?"

Mori exhales audibly over the microphone. "Just the breeze – it's west, by the way."

Hitsugaya smirks. The shinigami he's chosen to assist the mission are indeed on their toes. "Noted," he replies. A breeze is a better sign than absolute stillness.

Silence follows on the channel, which Hitsugaya takes as a good sign, for the moment. He senses Matsumoto circulating between the gate on the Eastern end of the complex to the central main gate; he anticipates seeing her there soon. There isn't much activity just yet, but Hitsugaya knows that the meeting inside the complex is yet vulnerable for another few hours still.

Hitsugaya takes a deep breath as the main entrance comes into view. His lieutenant's bright reiatsu greets him before she does with a slight wave of her hand. All clear thus far.

And then the hair on the back of Hitsugaya's neck stands on end and his eyes widen and meet with Matsumoto's a split second before he _knows_ something's wrong. It's still too quiet, and the complex is _too damn quiet _and Hyourinmaru roars and something is about to–

He shouts a strangled warning as he reaches for his lieutenant and then the bright white hot light surrounds them all, sweeping him off his feet and everything out of his range of vision even though he knows his arms are in front of his face. He stops flying through the air when his back impacts something solid with a cracking suddenness. The deep, bone-shattering resonance of an explosion only registers in his ears long after his ears stop ringing. His vision is still spotted, but he sees now that he's laying on his side on the ground, his harsh breath the only thing he can hear over the noise, face half-pressed into the dirt.

"Captain!" Matsumoto's voice sounds muffled, but nearby. Blinking, Hitsugaya chases the remnants of stars in his eyes away and sees her feet approaching him at a hobbling run.

He pushes his palms flat against the ground, but when he moves to push himself upright, a sharp burst of pain flares in his left shoulder._Damn it. _Gritting his teeth, he pushes harder with his right arm, curling his left closer to his body to keep the injured shoulder immobile. He manages to get to his feet by the time Matsumoto comes closer, though he needs to lean against the tree he crashed into for support, and his chest still burns with a breathless attempt to draw enough air from the smoke around him. Matsumoto regards him with wide, concerned eyes, mouth open to ask him if he's all right.

Frowning, he notices that she's favoring her right leg, and that there are dirt smudges on her face and arms. There's a small cut near her collarbone, and another above her eyebrow, and it's pissing him off to see his lieutenant hurt, even more than it pisses him off that the enemy managed to slip by his defenses.

"The others?" he asks, ignoring her hands as they reach to lend him support.

Matsumoto's expression changes to something a little darker, and far more angry. "Shinji and Tomoko..." she begins, then pauses, gritting her teeth and clenching her fists. "They're dead."

Hitsugaya's eyes go to where he thinks the entrance once stood – it's hard to see with the smoke and debris still thick in the air – barely suppressing a snarl as he pushes himself away from the tree and performs a quick _shunpo_ back to the gate to see if anyone can be salvaged. He sees Rin and Daisuke leaning over the two bodies of his dead subordinates, and he senses Ichiro's furious reiatsu inside the complex, likely looking for the culprit of the explosion.

_Oh... oh god._ The realization almost made Hitsugaya _sick _thinking about it. The explosion hadn't come from outside of the complex – it had come from the _inside_. The only bodies laying on the ground belong to Hitsugaya's company, and there aren't any Court members around. Hitsugaya sees the outline of the building the meeting is in through the smoke – it's untouched. It all makes sense now. _Goddamn it!_

"Captain, _wait_!"

He ignores Matsumoto's plea as he draws Hyourinmaru from his cage and approaches the outer doors of the meeting building with his own reiatsu stirring up the air around him in icy fury, freezing the dirt at his feet. The doors open under the pressure of his ire alone, revealing a dark room with only one person standing at the head of the large, _empty_ conference table in the middle of the room.

"I had a feeling you'd be here; it's a relief to see you haven't become rusty in the last thirty years," the person says, his mild voice mockingly light. It's a voice Hitsugaya knows, but even though he hasn't heard in a very long time, it still feeds into the boiling fire of rage burning in his stomach. "You are, after all, still considered Gotei's prodigy."

"You son of a bitch," Hitsugaya growls. "You are _dead_; I killed you myself!"

The man laughs, stepping forward into the light the now-open door provides. The light reflects off of the man's silver hair, illuminating his broad grin. _Gin._ "Ah, but that is where you are mistaken, Hitsugaya-kun, as I am clearly here now and quite alive."

Hitsugaya snarls, feeling the chill of iced wings forming on his back and down his limbs even before he gives Hyourinmaru the command, feet and hands and soul merging with the dragon's will. A burst of icy wind blows the doors entirely off their hinges and knocks the chairs away from the solid wood table, forcing Gin backwards a step. Taking no time to savor the small victory, Hitsugaya charges forward with a fierce yell.

Gin's sword meets his own in a shattering impact, and a small twinge of pain in Hitsugaya's shoulder reminds him that he's not at his full power. It's too late to turn back now, however; before him stands one of his most dangerous enemies, back from the grave with no explanation, and Hitsugaya isn't sure that he _can _kill him but _has _to try anyway because nobody else can.

Gin parries and dodges, but doesn't really seem to be on the offensive, Hitsugaya realizes with a pang of indignant anger. Even after the long duel that ended in Gin's death all those years ago, Gin still insists on toying with him, and Hitsugaya presses forward with more determination and strength than he knows he has. When Gin blocks a downward swing, Hitsugaya lets Hyourinmaru slide off of Shinsou's long blade before he uses the momentum to pivot into a strong side kick. The blow connects with Gin's midsection, sending him back several steps with a surprised grunt. Hitsugaya doesn't stop; he balls his left hand into an icy fist, and ignores the agony in his shoulder as he clocks Gin across the face with it. It takes a moment for Hitsugaya to catch his breath again around the pain, and in that moment, Gin stands and wipes the blood from the corner of his cut lip, smiling.

"Temper, temper," Gin says with a click of his tongue in jeering condescension. "This is no way to greet old friends."

Hitsugaya's eyes widen as he senses another presence behind him – _too late –_ and he turns to the side to avoid the heavy blow aimed at his back. It hits him in the side instead, sending him skidding across the conference table and onto the floor. His right hip throbs as he tries – and fails – to stand, and he knows the impact has done some serious damage. From his position on the floor, he looks up and sees a face he thought didn't exist anymore, and it steals the breath right out of him.

"H-Hinamori...?"

She stares at him with a blank expression, a light trail of smoke rising from her outstretched hands, palms forward and fingers poised in the ending expulsion pose for a kidou. He isn't sure what hurts him more – the injury itself, or the fact that _she_is the one to deliver the blow. Using Hyourinmaru as a crutch, Hitsugaya pulls himself to his feet, leaning heavily on his zanpakutou's hilt as his right leg refuses to hold his weight. His eyes never leave Hinamori's, and it takes him only a few heartbeats to realize that this is simply an illusion of the woman he once knew – a soulless doll, whose strings are attached to Gin's hands hidden beneath the sleeves of his robe.

"This isn't her," he snarls, aiming his comment over his shoulder at Gin without taking his eyes away from the doll. "You're losing your touch, Gin – Aizen's always been the better illusionist."

He doesn't have to see Gin's suddenly tensed shoulders to know he's struck a painful cord with his enemy, and if his hip throbbed less, he knows he would be smirking instead of grimacing over the small victory.

"Don't you mention _that bastard's_ name again," Gin hisses, so angry that his reiatsu is giving away his every intention. Hitsugaya hobbles to the side before the blow from behind can land, and Gin's blade glances off his arm. "_He_has no right to be mentioned ever again!"

Hitsugaya grunts as his leg wobbles just enough to knock his balance off-center, his shoulder impacting one of the few remaining chairs left in the conference room. Hot pain shoots through Hitsugaya's side as he tries putting more weight on his bad leg to stabilize his stance, blinding him just long enough for Gin to suddenly be a lot closer than he should be. Lip curling, Gin presses forward with Shinsou, forcing Hitsugaya to move in ways his body isn't agreeing with. Each parry and block becomes more of a chore, and Hitsugaya knows he's on the losing end of this fight now. There's only one card left up his sleeve, and even that isn't much of a trump card – the memory of his near-death the last time makes using it a last resort, something he can only rely on if he has nothing left to lose.

His staggering retreat ends as his back bumps into something soft, a body; before he can turn to see who it is, soft, familiar arms encircle his shoulders from behind, and it's a physique he knows all too well. He's trapped – both in memory, and in reality, even though _he knows better_. It's just too hard to forget how comfortable that time was, and he slips away again with little trouble.

_Soft lips brush against the base of his neck from behind, warm breath tickling his ear just so that it sends a shiver belying the warmth building in the pit of his stomach. He tries to turn, but can't._

Gin is smiling again in front of his face – that same, damned arrogant smirk of his, broadened to a frightening width by the maniacal gleam in his narrow eyes. His arms are pinned to his sides, and he doesn't remember why, but he can't turn to see because–

_He can't move. The lingering scent of her perfume on his captain's robe just about undoes him again.__The scent of peaches and cherry blossoms and jasmine draws him into a trance as her fingertips work their way beneath the folds at the front of his haori._

He opens his eyes, vision blurred by the chords vibrating in his thoughts. Shinsou's descent is as imminent as human mortality, and it's going to kill him if he doesn't move. Eyes close, and he's not sure if he's wincing or retreating.

_Her fingertips are cool and soothing against the bare skin along the bare back of his shoulders, kneading muscles tightened by long, hard training sessions. So enveloped in the thought of _her_, he doesn't want to leave this place, even as he hears the dragon's warning that this isn't real._

The agony wrought by Gin's blade plunging deep into his chest brings him back again, and he realizes distantly that Hinamori doesn't even flinch or cry out as Shinsou passes through her – the doll – as well. Her fingers are cold and calloused, and her rough, harsh embrace holds nothing of the delicate warmth he remembers.

Then he remembers that the Hinamori holding him is nothing like the Hinamori of his memory, regardless of the first matching physical senses that once linked the two of their hearts together. The bond is frayed, broken, and it's more painful than the sword that's being twisted further into the deep wound in his chest. _I have nothing left to lose_ – the words whispering over and over at the back of his fading consciousness, and it almost has him convinced that he really is at the end of his rope.

His heart is beating in his ears, painfully loud as his blood rushes through his veins almost as quickly as the reiatsu builds to a boiling point. Hyourinmaru stirs impatiently; the dragon is so integrated into his own being that his own zanpakutou's soul knows even before he does that he's going to use his trump card. The world focuses sharply, Gin's smirking face materializing in blatant contrast with the dim surroundings. Hinamori's doppelganger tightens its arms around his shoulders, as if instinctively sensing the coming storm.

Gin's smile fades when he realizes that Hitsugaya is looking him directly in the eye. He realizes a heartbeat too late that something is about to happen – even as he twists the sword in Hitsugaya's chest one last quarter turn, Hitsugaya snarls and plunges Hyourinmaru's blade deep into Gin's stomach. The resulting explosion of ice and wind tears through the rest of the conference room, swirling madly as it blows the roof off of the building. The infuriated, surprised expression freezes into place on Gin's face as ice replaces the surface of his skin. Hitsugaya flexes his shoulders, feeling a small stab of nostalgic regret when Hinamori's doppelganger's arms shatter into icy shards. But as his weight falls back on his injured leg, he realizes that the support of the doll's arms had been supporting him almost entirely, and the world tilts at uncomfortable angles.

Hyourinmaru rumbles softly in the back of his mind, and Hitsugaya doesn't need to hear what the dragon says to know that he's in trouble. Matsumoto's shrill voice – muffled, by the ringing in his ears – is the last thing he hears as the ceiling and floor invert, and as he stares out over the iced, destroyed conference room one last time through dimming vision, he decides that he really does hate the missions that Gotei 13 has been sending him on these days.

And then, it's cold and dark and nothing more.

* * *

Matsumoto hates waiting. It's part of the reason she hates paperwork so much – half the job requires waiting for reports to come in, putting them together, and then waiting for them to be processed and approved. Usually, it drives her to drink or sleep and shirk as much of the wait as possible, but when the waiting comes to her captain, all she can do is sit near his cot in the fourth division and hope that he hasn't lost hope again. He has lost it before, and she remembers how _bad _the last time was. She doesn't want a repeat performance of that. 

Her voice is hoarse from speaking, trying desperately to coax Hitsugaya's mind back out of the darkness she knows he's pushed himself into. Hinamori's blank, cold face, distorted through the ice, reminds her of what he's just been through. Even though she still almost feels jealous that the long-dead girl still has such a strong pull over her captain's soul, she can't help but recall how many times Hitsugaya has helped her through Gin's betrayal. It isn't easy.

The clear plastic mask over Hitsugaya's pale face mists over with his breath every few seconds, and it's one of the only things that proves to her that he's still alive. His skin is cold, fingers almost stiff as she clutches his limp hand. She can barely feel his presence, and it frightens her to know that he willingly chose to drain all his reiatsu for this technique.

He's doing well, Unohana says. Even though she seems optimistic that Hitsugaya will pull through, Matsumoto isn't as confident. It isn't a matter of trusting her long-time leader and – after all they've been through as a team – friendship. It is more a matter of knowing how difficult it can be to let go of someone once dearly loved, and feeling that betrayal even years after the fact. She knows the sensation of this kind of hopelessness deeply; even she has trouble recalling how she'd found her captain in the meeting room. Despite the fact that she _knows_ the risk that any mission they go on can be a trap, she honestly hadn't expected to see Gin there. It isn't easy coming to terms with that even centuries later, and she can only imagine how hard it must be for Hitsugaya when it comes to someone he even still loves deeply.

Reaching forward, Matsumoto brushes unruly, silver-white bangs from Hitsugaya's sweaty, clammy forehead. He's still breathing, which is at least one sign that he hasn't entirely given up yet. The wound on his chest is healing, and while the hip dislocation will take much physical therapy and rehabilitation before he has full mobility, he will make a full recovery if he can get past the physical and mental drain his final technique has had on his body and mind.

If she can push through her own trials, she knows Hitsugaya is more than capable of doing the same. The choice is truly up to him, and all she can do is help lead him down a path that isn't so destructive. Trying hard not to let her own doubts come through in her voice, she continues speaking to Hitsugaya in a low voice, encouraging him to hang on.

As his breathing deepens, her own hope grows.

* * *

The tenth division main offices are quiet, even though it's only noon, and there are many shinigami padding around as silently as possible. Matsumoto frowns as she watches two lower-seated members of her own division shift their voices into a whisper as they pass by Hitsugaya's office door. She knows that the tension has been extremely high since their captain's return from the Fourth's infirmary, but she doesn't like the rumors spreading about the nature of Hitsugaya's injuries and forced rest. 

Not that Hitsugaya-taichou has been easy to deal with, Matsumoto rationalizes. He hates the crutches he's being forced to use, and he's developed the tendency to snap at her when he feels pressured or stressed. She also hasn't missed the fact that he seems almost... tired. It has occurred to her that he's suspicious that his division thinks less of him for his weakness, but she hasn't found the opportunity to tell him how wrong that assumption is. She knows Hitsugaya well enough after working with him for decades now to know that when he doesn't want to talk about something, it remains unsaid.

She also knows that she will say something about it anyway. It will likely result in an argument, but Hitsugaya ultimately isn't irrational – it will end well. These arguments always do.

And somehow, these arguments also always end up starting over tea. One of the things that haven't changed include Hitsugaya's insistence on drinking at least two steaming mugs of green tea every afternoon in his office. The first usually comes early afternoon, the second about two hours before he generally calls it quits for the night. Matsumoto knows his schedule pretty well, and knows that even though he still isn't supposed to be working more than an hour after dark, she will likely have to kick him out of his own office.

He's got one fisted hand pressed harshly into his cheek, elbow resting on the top of the desk while he peers down through messy bangs at his paperwork with a bored-frustrated look only he can manage, when she walks in with his early afternoon tea. Turning his eyes upward to meet hers as she enters, he doesn't change his expression as he nods in acknowledgment of her entrance, and then he doesn't say a word as his eyes look back at the paper in front of him with a little more interest. The arm that was propping his head up earlier is now in his lap. _Ah._ He hasn't been paying attention to the paperwork – which means something is bothering him.

"Here's your tea, Hitsugaya-taichou," she says cheerfully as she approaches his desk. She doesn't know what compels her to do so, but she obeys the whim that tells her to set it on top of the paper he's reading, rather than placing it on an empty spot on the desk. Hitsugaya's eyes flash as they suddenly meet hers, half in question and half in annoyance. "Oh come on," she continues, scoffing slightly. "You weren't reading that when I came in, anyway."

His eyes widen slightly, and then all inquiry is gone – he's angry, now. "What the _hell_ is that supposed to mean, Matsumoto?" he snaps. "I was looking at the paper; it's going to have tea rings on it now."

"What did the paper say?" She says it with a hint of challenge in her light voice.

He actually _growls_ at that, but doesn't answer, at least not with words. Instead, he looks away, which is more than enough of a reply for her. She takes the opening while it's there, not entirely caring that they're likely to draw attention with raised voices soon. Hitsugaya won't like it, but that isn't his choice anymore.

"I don't know about you, but I can't help but notice how quiet it's been around here lately." Hitsugaya's frown deepens, and he still won't look at her. But instead of him becoming more angry – like she'd been expecting – he seems to almost sink into his chair further. She sighs, rubbing her hands up and down her arms. "You know, the temperature drops in here whenever something's bothering you."

"This isn't your business, Matsumoto," he says, though there's a hint of defeat in his voice. At least he isn't trying to skirt the issue.

"Your division doesn't see you as weak."

He massages his forehead with slender fingers then, and then gives her a disparaging look. "That isn't what this is about."

She resists the urge to smirk; they're making progress, much to her surprise. At least he isn't so worried about what others are thinking of him at this point. "Then why don't you enlighten me?" she asks, carefully skirting the saucy tone that wants to work its way into her words.

"This isn't a good time."

"There is never a 'good' time – and as much as I know you like your privacy, this whole avoiding the issue thing is making your division nervous. As your lieutenant, it is in my job description to help run this joint, and by _damn_, this isn't just about you anymore."

Hitsugaya flinches, and Matsumoto almost wants to take the words back. _Almost._As harsh as the message is, he needs to hear it. He needs to hear it as much as she needed to hear it a long time ago; it is one of the sole things that has helped her finally let go – mostly – of Gin. Yes, it still hurts, but it is an issue she no longer lets burden her.

"It's okay to let go, Hitsugaya," she says, softly this time.

Suddenly, he's clenching his fists and stands so abruptly that he has to brace one fist against his desk to keep himself from wobbling on an unsteady leg. The crutches that were leaning against the side of the chair clatter to the floor, ignored. "Damn it, Matsumoto – that's easy for _you _to say!" he hisses, angry again, turquoise eyes blazing as he glowers at her. "You're already past that point!"

And then she's angry, because it's like a slap to the face. "Oh, so you think it was _easy_ for me to let go of Gin?" she counters icily, the previous soft tone bled dry from her tone. She advances on him, and he stands to his full height – eyes level with hers. "Do you think it's easy for me now? I may be on the other side of the problem, but I can tell you this much, kiddo – it _never_ goes away entirely. I have not forgotten how it felt to have Gin's arms around my shoulders when I needed them most. I haven't forgotten what he was like before he betrayed me, and then Aizen once he got a taste for power. Every time I hear his name, it still hurts. A lot. And _you_ – you can't seem to get past the fact that _you are not alone in this._"

It's Hitsugaya's turn to look hurt, almost as if he hasn't considered as much. He's still angry, she knows, but it's because her words are getting through to him. She presses her advantage while she still has it.

"It isn't like you're disrespecting the memory of you two by moving on. You can let Hinamori go without forgetting about her – at least, how she was like... _before_. This war hasn't been easy on any of us, and it isn't up to you to shoulder all the burdens. Give us more credit than that."

The anger bleeds from Hitsugaya like a sieve, and Matsumoto feels her own shoulders slumping in time with his. He really isn't an irrational thinker, even when he thinks his pride is at stake.

"Taichou," she adds, voice quieter now, "You can't keep going on like this, thinking that you have nothing left here. You're making those that look up to you nervous – they're going to think you're suicidal, at this rate."

Hitsugaya exhales deeply through his nose, then slumps down in his chair, wincing and shifting when his hip protests. She can tell he's thinking, considering what she's said. She waits patiently in the silence.

"I'm sorry," he finally says, meeting her gaze almost evenly – he's afraid to show the deep well of sorrow he's been harboring through the window of his eyes. It's an expression that is so _painful_ that it makes her want to grab him in a tight hug like she used to decades ago, and indulge him in lies that say everything is fine – it'll all be okay. But she can't; he's too grown up and wise now, and it's inappropriate to treat him that way after all that they've been through to get to this point. She can't keep her expression from relaxing out of anger now, though. "I... You're right. This isn't just about me anymore; I can't afford to think like that."

She adjusts the front of her gi absentmindedly, trying to think of something to say to make it all okay without making him feel worse. She comes up empty, and instead offers him a small smile.

"Well, we haven't done _that _in a while," she says. "Argue, you know."

He snorts. "Three weeks isn't all that long, and I was unconscious for two of those."

She doesn't dare tell him that it seems longer than that – the two weeks he was in a coma seemed like an eternity to her, and she doesn't want to remember that.

"Must be some kind of record, then," she replies. "And it'll happen more often if you don't behave." Then, with a little more seriousness, she adds, "There had better not be a next time."

He stares down into his hands, almost as if he's hesitant to commit – she knows that feeling all too well, and knows it will still take some time for him to work things out in his own mind, but it still worries her all the same – and after a moment, finally manages to look at her directly again with a _hint_ of fiery determination in his eyes that reminds her of him in his youth.

There is still a long road ahead, and the mountain they're climbing now is high, but the peak is in sight. This won't be the last time they argue, nor will it be the last time he pulls a stupid stunt like trying to kill himself with that final technique, but Matsumoto knows that they've come to yet another understanding between them. He won't use it again without a good reason, and she won't hold it against him. She smiles, pretends not to notice Hitsuagya's sudden embarrassment at realizing that there are several of his own division members huddled around outside the door to his office trying to listen in. Matsumoto nods, and with a small word of self-dismissal, leaves the room to disperse the eavesdroppers, feeling a great deal warmer and lighter.

* * *

"_The greatest glory in living lies not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall." _

_- Nelson Mandela, quoting Marianne Williamson_

* * *

_EDIT: I apologize for the random mashed-together words; QuickEdit totally hates italics when it comes to OpenOffice documents. Rahr. Hopefully I caught them all. _

_Am totally resisting writing in, "IT'S A TRAP!" Hahaha. I apologize for the experiment-y-ish element to this; present tense still kicks my ass. Also, this is a very speculative future!fic type story; a lot of assumptions I made here really aren't in canon. I promise! (Though I'm sure it's pretty obvious what's canon, and what is totally pure crack-speculation.) _

_So. Uh. This is one of maaaany one-shots that I'm working on. I also apologize for leaving a lot of open ends, and for the mistakes I've likely made – I barely looked this over before I posted it, I have to admit. It's been kind of hard finding my writing muse lately for my longer stuff (I have WIPs in three fandoms, yo – not including the fandoms in which I have WIPs on hiatus), but I think writing shorter stuff is helping a bit. I think. _

_Again, HAPPY BELATED BIRTHDAY, KELKEL! ILU. SO MUCH._

_Anyway! As always, comments and such are greatly appreciated. I probably won't do much else with this aside from correcting typos, but all input is very much coveted regardless!_

_Oh! And! Today is my fourth anniversary of my love-hate marriage with FFnet. Can hardly believe I've been traipsing around this end of the 'net that long, haha._


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